


Tales Only We Know

by Flailingkittylover



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Manga Spoilers, Romance, rating will change for later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 04:43:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17542895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flailingkittylover/pseuds/Flailingkittylover
Summary: Side stories ranging from Teen to Explicit from canon divergent storyLostCh. 2: He's been baby-faced for so long, Armin wonders what it would be like to have a beard





	1. Lion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch. 1: He’s never seen a lion before but Armin is convinced the beast is nothing but a big, fluffy cat trying to act tough.

_Just think of the mountain lions here except with a large mane of fur surrounding their head and upper body._ Annie had explained to him. _Father said our last name was founded after them, though I’m not sure why. Maybe my past clan was part of the ruling class and wanted to swing their grandiosity around._

 

The curious scholar doesn’t add much as Annie lays out the world for him. All these years he was so entranced in the physical wonders nature birthed, he forgot about the critters scampering about the land and under the soil. He’s so _interested_ and beyond eager to hear what else the girl beyond the walls has to say.

 

A beastly creature with long fangs sure to sink deep and tear you in half; a fierce king within an animal kingdom, Annie informs him so plainly. If Armin didn’t know her so well, the depth she goes into and far away smile she so barely wears could be seen as self-aggrandizing of where her family name originates from. But Armin can tell Annie is veering through so few memories which don’t uproot pain.

 

Now—like so many of a lion’s prey, he assumes—alarm freezes Armin solid. He’s stuck laying on his side beneath the blankets they’ve piled over themselves and does not dare move. His overactive brain tumbles over itself in search of an answer to why he’s stuck like this.

 

Earlier in the day, Armin had completed fermenting potatoes for a drink Jean kept heckling at him to make. The two tried a swig out of curiosity and judging by Annie’s fierce pucker of lips to the right, she hates it; she goes so far to voice as much when she takes another drink and throws the metal container spilling out the horribly strong stuff at Jean’s feet when he demanded for something she says in a deadpan tone, “tastes like shit”.

 

“ _You damn lightweights!” Jean had raged at the two. He picked up and shook the bottle fiercely only to bellow out in frustration when he found all the liquid had spilled. Armin spotted a crafty shine in Annie’s side-glance, as if proud to have vexed Jean so well. “I ask for one fucking thing in life and I can never fucking get it.” The tall man grumbled. He turned his back to them, grousing, “Stupid midget bitch always getting on my damn nerves...”_

 

Suspicion speculates further in Armin. He isn’t sure if Annie has been made looser through such a small dose of alcohol or if she really _is_ a lightweight.

 

Armin wonders all this bickering nonsense because now as bewildered orbs look down on himself, he’s welcomed awake by the yellow-stemmed crown of Annie’s head. Her face is tucked into his shirtless chest as well-structured arms keep tight around his torso. He would try to wriggle around for a looser grip if his waist hadn’t been captured by the nutcracker-like grip of Annie’s thighs and rested her bony ankles just below his lower back.

 

Breathing has never been this difficult and the tightness in his lungs is made worse when the small woman shifts closer against him. The long shirt Annie wears from someone easily over six feet high blocks him from feeling the plush warmth of her skin but that doesn’t stop his entire body from prickling with cozy heat. Her soft-smooth legs feel nice on his sides and he can feel Annie’s strong lower belly rise and fall against his own.

 

Armin’s body finally thaws from his shock and slips his arms around her. The pleasant warmth passing through their pressed bodies feels like a low simmering flame, never going out and not made livelier. The stable heat is wonderful and soul-melting to Armin. He exhales contently, comfy and happy in Annie’s arms.

 

Annie stirs right after his exhale ends. His skin feels the velvet of her cheek slide up his chest until her face is partially exposed to him. A gulp slowly rides down his throat when the first small smile she’s ever made during sleep shows itself.

 

“ _Armin…”_ Her pink lips whisper dreamily.

 

Amazement keeps the whites of his eyes large. She said his name so softly and cherished, Armin was sure his ghost could rise out of his body from how hard the wind had been knocked out of him.

 

She _has_ to be a lightweight, he figures. The feelings between them are all too clear now but the closed-off woman has never been this brazen about showing her care for him through a hug; at least, not yet. Annie is undoubtedly all of what a strong lion represents, but Armin believes that like Annie, the beast’s inner selves are akin to a needy cat desperately seeking out affection _._

 

Armin’s head tingles like it’s stopped up with popping champagne bubbles. She looks so comfortable against him and the happy man feeds the feeling by tenderly running his hand over the gently protruding bumps of her vertebrae. Her breath pleasantly clouds over his skin from a sigh and a wintergreen smell from the forests she claimed to have been raised in clings tight to the silky hair his other hand strokes. The pure yellow of Annie’s tresses are growing longer, his fingers notice, and Armin looks forward to seeing how easily she pulls off a new look.

 

Blue from the outside light shines through the grime on the nearby windows. The humming, crystalline light gives off a holy-like aura bordering Annie’s white-gowned body and the flames from a well-fed fire dance over her face to show the ferocity hiding inside someone so petite. Light red dyes Armin’s cheeks.

 

If celestial beings could descend to their world in human form, Armin is sure he has caught one right here. Had he been a historian in her world, he would ensure this image of Annie would be hailed as divine in his books so it could last for hundreds of years.

 

Her face then twitches and a displeased sound leaves her. She fidgets like she’s fighting off something prying her from her pleasant slumber. Her hold tightens all around him as Annie burrows her face into the middle of Armin’s chest.

 

His leg really itches, the heat is growing to be a little too hot now and Armin’s pretty sure his hip bones are now aching because Annie’s strong thighs are squeezing him so possessively.

 

He still doesn’t dare move.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Jean just can’t seem to get a drink LOL.


	2. Beard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Summary: He's been baby-faced for so long, Armin wonders what it would be like to have a beard
> 
> A/N: This is all I have to say: Hiccup from How to Train your Dragon with a beard.
> 
> Just
> 
> OOF
> 
> And these two are so similar I practically fell out of my chair.

Armin runs thoughtful fingers over his jawline. The scratchy itch of stubble bend and bounce back beneath his fingertips. His lips purse thoughtfully within his reflection in the broken piece of glass he holds.

 

“I think I’d look pretty good with one, don’t you think?” Armin smiles.

 

“Hmm?” Annie invites him to go on from her place by the stove.

 

“A beard. I haven’t shaved in a while and it’s starting to grow out.” The pondering young man directs the mirror to the underside of his chin, examining the ever-so-slightest growth of hair there and around the shape of his jaw. His grin lifts a little higher. “My grandpa had one and I remember pictures of my dad having a mustache. I think I’d be able to pull either of them off.”

 

Curious eyes lift to Annie. She stares back at him, cool blue puzzled as to why he would bring up such a thought. Armin only smiles higher, standing straighter in his chair as if he was an expectant child eager to hear they’ve done well.

 

Annie doesn’t answer and redirects her sight to the boiling pot on the stove. “Don’t know where you got that idea from. You’ll look like an old man if you grew one.”

 

That isn’t necessarily an insult to Armin. He’s been confused as either a young girl or a boy five years younger than he really was for so long, it would be a pleasant change to look older. It’s an out of the blue thought, he agrees with Annie, but he’s interested to know how he would look with well-combed yellow framing his jaw and chin. Within the glass, Armin’s eyes sparkle as brightly as a priceless gem blessed with bright sunlight.

 

The Marleyians brought a wealth of knowledge and technology over the years, so much so, Armin felt as if he was drowning. When he swam through the piles of books littering his room and house, he remembered reserving two days and two nights on a history book detailing the lives of raiders called Vikings who traveled the massive expanse of the world.

 

It’s a fierce history filled with brawny men and plunder and beards he doesn’t understand why were braided and grown out so long. He doesn’t think he’d fit in with such a crowd, would likely be the dead weight they left behind as they proceed with their vicious adventures, but the young man searching for so much in this world still wishes he could tag along for the ride.

 

He’s yet to see the wind breaking the waves in the middle of the sapphire sea, to man a ship—whether it was by sail or by steam—and have every station populated with those he would protect with his life. The intent of exploration is always different, either bloodthirsty or desiring riches alongside the tantalizing mystery of adventure and Armin can never stop himself from smiling at the thought.

 

If there was ever a grace period from this confusion and hell, Armin hopes Annie could come along on the adventure he hopes to find.

 

The clatter of a straight razor and metal cup being placed before him rips Armin out of his reverie. He never knew Annie had even left and when he stares up at her questionably, a dainty finger points at him then to the metal tools below.

 

“Those can help you get rid of that.” Annie informs him.

 

The side of Armin’s lip squirm down in protest. “I don’t want to get rid of it yet. It’s barely grown out.”

 

“Best to get rid of it now than before you start itching too much.”

 

Armin’s palm stays glued on the right side of his face as if protecting the barely-alive stubble. “Let me keep it for the next few days.” He bargains. “I had to keep shaved for appearances and I’d like to see what it looks like.”

 

“No.” Annie declines quickly. “Those things bug me and I’m not up to having that scratching me everywhere.”

 

The need to argue pulls Armin’s mouth to the side. “But it’s my face. I can do what I want with it.”

 

Annie’s hand slams down on the wood table, her back bowing as she leans down to make their visions level. “True, but if you want to keep messing around with me, you’ll get rid of that. And I’d recommend as soon as possible or you won’t touch me until it’s gone.”

 

The disputing soldier knows he should probably back down, tells him this hill isn’t worth dying on or getting maimed over, but determination spurs his arms to cross and lean his back into his chair.

 

“Well, that would make more sense to me if I was the one initiating most of the touching.” Armin points out matter-of-factly. “So my question is, can _you_ handle waiting for the next few days? I think I can.”  

 

The only thing Armin hears is the stew bubbling in the metallic pot on the stove. His face and Annie’s glare battle in who can wear the most impassive death-stare although what’s happening inside the soldier’s body betrays his seeimingly uncaring exterior.

 

His stomach is in knots, visible sweat could probably be noticed if someone was looking at his back, and he’s half-sure Annie is tempted to either splash his face with the water in the cup or throw him out the window.

 

The fierce woman lifts up slowly until her back is straightened and shoulders are pushed back. An aura like she’s preparing for a fight emits from her tight form.

 

“Dinner's ready.” Annie practically growls.

 

Armin quickly nods in understanding, a motion he hopes Annie sees as eager for food rather than out of a quick-reflex born out of fear. He keeps up his determined face until Annie’s jacketed back faces him, finally allowing his face to aim at his lap and eject a gust of relieving air from his nostrils.

 

Through the grace of Annie’s mercy or some miracle, he’s survived this one argument. The sharp razor in front of him makes the soldier nervous and he quickly gets up to hide the tool to avoid giving Annie any ideas he really hopes she shouldn’t have. As he lifts a spoon full of chopped vegetables and beef to his mouth, the ever-imaginative mind of Armin wanders.

 

A memory from Bertolt showed him how a teenage Zeke looked so kiddish at one time. In comparison to then, the enigma of a man now sports a beard and deceives one in thinking he is older than he really is. Armin isn’t sure such a thing is really what he wants—especially to desire a physical feature shared by such a contemptible person—but he enjoys the thought of being less baby-faced and emanating a strong appearance as Jean does.

 

Later in the night when Armin’s body encounters the unpleasant urge to go to the bathroom, he sleepily walks into the washroom. His jaw outstretched with his yawn, his hand rubbing his neck which is tense because he’s sure he slept on it wrong. Armin’s yawn falters when something gives him pause.

 

His palm comes away from his face sticky and having a mix of nearly transparent or yellow-tinged color. After he sniffs the slick liquid, his nose wobbles around. Was this...butter?

 

Recollection washes over him. His palms sporadically rub about his face and he spots how his chin and jaw are greasy and as naked as the day he was born. Confusion spurs Armin to look over at the bed, soon spotting the straight razor in a cup on the nearby dresser and how Annie has moved to invade his spot. Twin pairs of blue glow devilishly in the darkness before she smirks at him. The blankets rumple around as she aims her porcelain back at him, soon having her entire body entangled in his side of the blankets.

 

Armin’s jaw hangs. She caught him off guard and as a punishment for going against her, is letting him sleep unguarded by the brisk wind whistling through the cavern.

 

 _Damn it._ He mentally groans.

 

Defeated, the male soldier does his business and drags his feet to the bed while forlornly rubbing around the right side of his jaw. 

 

Maybe he wouldn’t look good with it now but maybe he would later in his years. Armin doesn’t know but he hopes Annie becomes more receptive to the idea so they can both determine such a fact. 

 


End file.
